D.M.N.

a short story
by C.T.Douglas
copyright © 1995

Silence. Not even the sound of the wind. Cold cement streets and brick
buildings. Dead.
Jordan quickly walked down Hastings, the collar of his leather jacket hiked
up. Broken glass crunched under the soles of his boots.
The silence shattered. Voices, not too distant, rose through the crisp evening
air. He was nearing Carrall Street. As he cut through Pigeon Park he saw the
source of the clamor.
A small riot was in the process. Thirty or forty people, all young, were
smashing windows out of a small abandoned store. Cans of beans and
apricots were being thrown out of the windowless frame. Children and
teenagers scurried to take all they could lay their hands on.
On the opposite side of the street Jordan quietly circumvented the crowd. He
didn't want any trouble. These weren't ordinary kids. They were Demons.
D.M.N.'s, he corrected himself. These are the contaminated ones. He
could tell by the streaks and grey through their hair. He didn't need to get
involved with them. That was just asking for a slow and painful death.
Hidden by the shadows, Jordan made his way into an alley. Tucked away
into a slight recess in a wall as a dark iron door. He knocked five times,
softly, and waited. A small hatch slid open and two inquisitive eyes peered
down at him. Then it closed. The sound of a multitude of locks and deadbolts
could be heard disengaging. The door opened a crack.
Jordan quickly skirted through the crack and into a dark stairwell. The
figure who had opened the door stood beside him. He locked the door
behind Jordan, motioning for him to go up the stairs. The steps creaked, he
thought, just a little too loudly. He made his way up three flights of stairs
and came to another door. This one wasn't locked and he let himself in.
The room was crowded and hazy. The stench of stale sweat and cigarette
smoke assaulted his nose. There were probably fifteen people or so, all
standing or sitting, around a table in the center of the apartment. The old
man who sat at the head of the table nodded at him. "You made it,", he
said, "We were beginning to get worried. Thought that the Demons might
have got you."
Jordan shook his head. "No," he replied, " I just had to sneak round a small
food raid around the corner... Is everyone here, Q?"
Q nodded again. "Yes. You're the last one. We have a few newcomers
tonight, too. Make yourself comfortable and we'll get this show on the road."
Jordan scanned the room. The crowd was fairly evenly half men and half
women. He recognized a few of them, though many of them appeared to
be new. Sitting at the table were two people he knew really well. Jen and
Allison. Jen pointed to a seat beside her, one which she had apparently been
saving for him. He shrugged off his coat, placed it on the back of the chair,
and sat down.
The old man stood up and cleared his throat."Well," he said, "We're all here,
so lets get this going. Introductions between you people will have to be done
later. Right now I'll just introduce myself. To those who Don't know me, my
name is Sir Quintin Richards the Third. But as some of you are so apt with
nicknames, " he winked at Jordan, "You may call me Q..after the inventor in
those James Bond movies."
There was some muffled laughter from the crowd but it died down pretty
quickly. Q continued.
"As you all know, there is a viral cotangent spreading across the globe which
has been dubbed D.M.N., meaning ' DNA MODULATION NARCOSIS'. As
you probably saw on television, before most of the networks shut down, it
is highly communicable with an infection factor of one hundred percent..
meaning that everyone gets it. No one knows where it comes from nor how
to cure it. There have been rumors that some secret government labs have
been working on a cure and there are other rumors that these same labs
created the virus in the first place. DO not place any faith in these rumors. It
doesn't matter where the virus came from. It's here and we've all dealt with
it."
"Here's what we do know about it. It's a very complex, self adapting, self
mutating, abiotic contagent. It spreads through it's host's system rewriting
the DNA sequence. The result is about a ten day fever and huge nervous
system shock. Over seventy five percent of those infected die due to the
pain and fevers. Those that survive are warped both physically and mentally.
Hightened reflexes, augumented strength. Mentally they become more
aggressive, almost feral, and usually sadistic. Then they develop other
mental imbalances, but these vary from person to person. Because of the
sped up metabolic rates most of these people will not live past forty. And
over ninety six percent of them are sterile."
A voice rose from the back of the room. "What about the these new mental
abilities we've witnessed?" it asked.
Q nodded. "Yes.. it's become apparent now that some of the affected seem
to possess certain psychic abilities. Limited telepathy, empathy and the
such. These cases are VERY rare however and they usually become the
leaders of these 'wolfpacks' we've been seeing lately."
This was a new development which worried Jordan. How could they survive
when there were people out here able to read their minds. Or their feelings.
"Now for some more positive news," Q said, "All of you here represent that
one to two percent of the populace who have been infected and defeated the
virus. Before the viral warfare labs at Cheyenne Mountain in the US closed
down they released a package with an explanation. Basically it goes as
follows. Humans are composed of 4 base pairs of DNA which determine what
we are. Hair color, eyecolor, immune system, etc... These 4 bases also make
up our chromosomes. XY for males and YY for females."
"Now some people have a slightly variable DNA structure. Where the
regular DNA is designated A, G, H, T, yours is designated A(x), G(x), H(x),
T(x). This was all discovered fairly recently and is now known to cause the
extended chromosomal expressions. Like XY/XXX and YY/XXX, /YYY, /XYY,
and /YXX. DMN affects normal DNA and chromosomes, expunging their
existing code and inserting it's own. But for some reason it can't adapt to
these extended codes. As it begins to erase and try and rewrite these codes,
the fragments are swallowed up and restructured by existing, unaffected
white cells, and changed slightly, otherwise called 'Upgraded'. As these
upgraded white cells re-restructure these codes they also try and restructure
the virus. The virus then restructures it's own makeup, similar to how the
white cells change theirs, and tries again. Over the ten days after infection
this battle wages on and on until, finally, the DNA codes of both the virus
and the host as so skewed that the virus can no lolonger adapt itself and it
dies. The remaining host cells takes the fragments of cells and virus alike
and use them to return the host's DNA and chromosomal makeup back to
normal. SO much damage has been done to the host's original code that the
newly rewritten code is "elevated" a level. Instead of four base pairs there is
now eight. B, I, J and U."
It appeared that this crash course in genetics really bewildered most of the
people around Jordan. A few of them already knew this speech by heart so
it's wasn't a problem for them to comprehend it.
Q sighed. "Ok.. in laymans terms. You are now not able to be infected by the
virus. You have reached the next level of human evolution.. to a point. Your
DNA is highly adaptive. It can now fend off almost every infection known. It
also means that you are all able to have children. And that's the point of this
little group."
"We have a task ahead of us. There are too few fertile individuals left among
the Demons. This means that the human race will go extinct within the next
hundred years. But you people are able to reproduce. So, the task falls upon
you to restart the human race from scratch."
That was the kicker. It seemed as if all the breathing within the room
stopped. Jordan chuckled. Jen jabbed her elbow into his side to stop him.
Q wrapped up his little lecture. "I know this seems so sudden and maybe
just a little too much to handle at this moment. I suggest you all think over
what I have said and proposed. Remember. The fate of the human race
rests in your hands."
Still silent.
The boardwalk along the beach was still. Like the rest of the city it was
dead or dying. Few stores were still open, being run by those not yet
contaminated by the Demon. Jordan and Jen walked slowly down the
wooden promenade.
The sun shone down on them, warming their bones but giving little solace.
Jordan was in a quite somber mood and Jen was just very quiet.
"Damnit!"
Jen turned to Jordan. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice barely a
whisper.
Jordan stopped and turned to her. "I still can't believe this. I mean.. It's
like we're living out a Stephen King novel. Or some really bad B-grade flick.
`The fate of the Human race rests in OUR hands.', he said. Oh, Come on.
Give me a break. I can't accept this. It's too much..."
She took his hand in his and squeezed it tightly. "Jordan... We really don't
have a choice anymore. In fact we probably never had a choice. We just
have to make the best with what we've got."
"And what have we got?," asked Jordan, anger creeping into his
voice, "Fifteen people, maybe a few more? It's war now. Us against them.
Normal humans against these .. these.. these Demons. They're stronger,
faster, smarter, more feral.. hell, they can read our minds. What chance do
we have? We have no allies except for ourselves and our families and friends
are dead, or worse. We're finished.. The human race is dead.."
Jen lowered her head and was silent. She began to tremble slightly. Jordan
felt ashamed. He placed his hand under her chin and raised her head. Tears
filled her eyes and trailed down her cheeks.
"Jen.. I.. I'm sorry.. I didn't mean to get mad or make you cry. I'm so
sorry... Please forgive me. We'll survive.. We will.."
Jen hugged and held him tightly. They stood there for a long time, her
crying on his shoulder and him soothing her.
She pulled back slightly, her eyes red, looking into his own. Jordan suddenly
felt uncomfortable. She continued to star long and hard. Then she leaned
closer to him, her lips almost brushing his.
He stepped out of their embrace. "Uhh, I need a smoke. Hold on a sec.." He
hastily retreated into a small boardwalk store.
The store was one of the few still open, it's owners having not yet
succumbed to the plague. The windows were barred and it's atmosphere was
dark and dungy. An older man stood behind the counter, his hands below
the top. Probably holding a gun, Jordan told himself.
Jordan kept his hands out from his side in a non-threatening matter. "You
got any Old Gold Cigarettes?" he asked.
The old man looked him over and then smiled, relieved to see the young
man wasn't a rowdy wolfpacker.
"Yeah, I have a few cartons in back. Let me get one so I can restock up front
here. Will you watch the front for me?"
Jordan nodded and the old man walked into the back. He returned a few
minuets later, pulled out a few packs and placed the rest of the carton under
the counter.
"Here ya go," he said, "That'll be ten dollars."
Jordan fished two fins out of his pocket and placed them beside the packs on
the faded linoleum. As he did so the door opened and a young girl walked in.
She was fairly tall, wearing leathers and a tube top. Her black hair fell to her
waist.. and was streaked with silver.
She watched the little interaction with interest and stepped in.
"Hey old man," she said, rather loudly, "He's a 'Younger`, Old man, so he
don't pay.. comprende?"
The elderly gentleman, obviously frightened, slid the money back towards
Jordan. Jordan, not wanting to cause any trouble, took the money and
smokes and placed them into his inside pocket.
As he turned and passed the girl on his way out of the store she leered at
him. "Come back sometime," she leered, "and maybe we can have some
fun."
Jordan just shook his head and exited the store as quickly as possible.
The transition from dark to light blinded him temporarily. When his eyes
readjusted he was assaulted with a chilling sight.
Three silverhaired young men surrounded Jen. All of them were hollering
and cat calling at her. Frightened, she kept stepping back until she was
leaning against the railing of the boardwalk. Jordan pushed aside two of the
gangers, took her arm, and began leading her away. The had only gotten a
few meters when they the yelling.
The girl ganger, apparently the leader of this little pack, had exited the
store. She had quickly conferred with the others and was now leading the
ganger's after them. Jordan took Jen by the hand and they both began to
run down the boardwalk. The rounded a corner around a building and..
...And it was a dead end. Buildings on each side of them and a railing
separating them from a 30 foot cliff in front of them. They quickly turned to
retrace their footsteps.
But the gangers stood in their ways. They began to pick up and throw
bottles and other assorted junk at them. Their enhanced strength made
these makeshift projectiles more harmful than usual. A bottle hit Jordan in
the arm as he tried to block himself, another smashed off Jen's head, almost
knocking her out.
They fell to their knee's under this constant barrage. Finally it ceased.
Jordan looked up. All the gangers were brandishing long serrated knifes..
except one who had a crossbow.
The girl/leader smiled, her teeth like gleaming daggers. "You're not
demons,", she said, "You're not one of us. We'll make you pay for your
blasphemy." The man with the crossbow let loose a bolt. It struck Jen in the
shoulder. She scream and crumpled to the deck, unconscious. Jordan quickly
knelt over her still form. A pool of blood was spreading out beneath her.
Someone backhanded him, sending him sliding across the deck, hitting a
railing. Another person howled. It was over. There was no way he could fight
back. They had lost..
"NOOOOOO" Jordan screamed in defiance and rage, and pulled himself up.
He ran over to Jen's side and scooped her up in his arms. The Gangers got
closer, howling, telling Jordan how he was going two die Slowly and very,
very, painfuly.
And then Jordan's world went red.
Anger welled up from deep within him. He could hear the growl of the beast
in his soul. When the gangers were no more than five feet away the beast
escaped. The boardwalk underneath the demon's exploded, sending shards
of wood and sand high into the air. Bodies were flung and broken, almost
ripped asunder by the invisible turbulent forces that were unleashed.
And when it was over all that remained was Jordan, an unconcious Jen in his
arms, four dead gangers, and the wind.
It was eerie how the city was so quiet. No cars or sirens or even the sound
of people bustling back and forth.
Jordan peered down the seventeen stories from the top floor of the
Dominion Building to the street. Aside from the few burning cars and
scampering people trying to hide from the Demons, all seemed relatively
innocuous.
The sun was close to setting, casting it's radiant hues across the sky and
mountains. Jordan sipped at his glass of wine, took a drag off his cigarette
and pulled his green, silk, robe tighter so it didn't flap on the wind.
The events of the day replayed in his head. After the strange phenomenom,
of which he had no doubt in is mind that he had caused, had killed the
gangers he quickly made his way back to the building, Jen still in his arms.
Luckliy the power was still on here. He had pulled out the bolt, cleaned and
dressed her wounds and put her in the bed. He had been so scared. She had
been very pale and her heart beat and breathing erratic at best. But after a
few hours, amzingly enough, some of her colour returned and her breathing
became normal. Sure that she was okay for the time being, Jordan slipped
into the shower and cleaned off the blood and sweat . He sat on the floor
of the shower for an hour, letting the water assault him, before he got out,
slipped on a robe and crashed out on the couch.
Now he was standing out on the balcony of the top floor of a building of
which he was to scared to live in until today.
They won't come here, he told himself, They're more scared of me now, than
I of them.
And that was the final fact which totally turned Jordan's world more upside
down that it already was. Here he was, one of the few humans left and
charged with the task of repopulating the entire species.. yet he wasn't
human himself... He was something else.
More human than human.
A hand rested on his shoulder. He turned to look. At his side stood Jen,
wearing a robe like his, her hair slightly damp. "I hope I didn't scare you,"
she said, "I just got out of the shower and saw you here, standing alone."
Jordan's brows arched into a worried furrow. "I didn't hear you.. What are
you doing up? You should be resting. You're injured. And a shower? Now
we'll have to change your bandages.."
Jen bit her lip. "I took them off."
"WHAT?" Jordan yelled at her, "Why the hell did you do that? Are you stupid,
woman? There's no doctor's to help you anymore. The wound could get
infected. It could.."
Slowly, Jen lowered the robe from her shoulders. Instead of a bloody gash
there was a faint scar, paler in color to her skin.
Stunned, Jordan just stood there. After a few minutes he reached out,
touching the scar with trembling fingertips, running them across the
healing wound. He was too confused to do anything else. Jen spoke up, a
slight falter in her voice."We're different now, aren't we? We're not human
anymore. We've gone beyond that."
Jordan could hear her words but was still unable to reply. It was all too
much, coming together too quickly. The plague, the death and now the
change within themselves.
All he could do was stare at the scar, reading it with his fingertips as a blind
man reads brail, looking for some final answer. Jen brought up her hands
and ran her fingers across his face, tracing the contours of his cheeks, his
mouth, his eyebrows...
"Jordan," she whispered quietly, "I can feel it.. within me. The change. It's
opened up my mind.. my being. I can remember being hit and falling to the
ground. I could feel your power as you unleashed it. I could feel your anger
and fear as you rushed me here.. as you worked as quickly as possible to
save my life."
She wrapper her arms around his shoulders and drew closer, her lips a
hair's breadth from his. "But most of all, I could feel you. Jordan.. We've
known each other for a long time. We're the best of friends. But I always, in
someway, knew that you felt slightly more than friendship toward me. No!
don't try and deny it. I know because I felt the same way. But I was never
sure how I really felt towards you. I do now, though. Jordan? I... I love you."
She closed the gap and brushed his lips with her own. Jordan pulled back a
little, trying to escape.
"Jen.. I.. I can't.. I mean.. I don't deserve this. Yes. I love you. Deeply. And
I care for you even more. But I don't deserve this.."
She kissed him, deeply and longingly. He tried to protest but she wouldn't
let him elude her any longer. And for the first time his body and soul agreed
on something. He gave up and returned the gift of her love back.
Fifteen minutes later, it seemed, she broke the kiss, pulled back slightly, and
looked into his eyes, smiling.
"Yes. You DO deserve it Jordan. We both do!"
Jordan lifted her into his arms, kissed her once more, and led her inside.
Jen slept, soundly, her head lying on Jordan's chest, her breath slowly
crossing his breast.
Jordan looked down at her, running his finger's through her hair. The light
of a hundred candles, placed around the room, cast their flicking shadows
across the walls as their small flames danced gracefully in the warm breeze
coming through the curtain over the balcony door.
And it was in this moment he realized that not everything in the world was
gone.
True love could never be vanquished.
And with true love there would always be hope for the world. For in a world
of demons there must always be...
...Angels.